


Forgive me Father

by Reneehart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Priest Kink, Priest!Tom, this is pretty blasphemous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23528065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reneehart/pseuds/Reneehart
Summary: Father Tom is performing his duties working the confessional when the devout Hermione Granger steps inside, with a rather surprising confession of her own.How tempting she is. How sinful.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 6
Kudos: 152





	Forgive me Father

**Author's Note:**

> I've been cleaning out my document folders and found this dumpster fire of blasphemy.
> 
> Enjoy.

He knew it was her the moment she spoke, her silhouette from the grated partition committed to memory. Her voice was soft and low, yet urgent and passionate as if each word was a psalm in its own right.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Hermione began, wavering in a way that was unfamiliar to her, betraying her strength.

Tom tilted his head in curiosity, perking in his seat. Hermione was one of the most devout young women he had ever met, her bible always at her side and separating from the worn and crinkled cover from her use. Colorful sticky notes poked out from nearly every page, and he often wondered what scribblings she marked the within Holy Book. 

Were they questions of faith? A young woman trying to make sense of life and her place within it?

Or were they merely notes, commentary on the books and gospels- analyzing them the way an English major would analyze _Lolita_ or _War and Peace_.

But Hermione seemed genuine in her contrition, nervous as if she had something to confess beyond the standard “I got into a fight with my friend and I’m afraid I hurt him.”

Interesting.

“What sins have you committed, my child?” he asked, leaning against the thin wall that separated them.

She hesitated, wood creaking beneath her as she shifted in her seat. “I’ve had premarital...relations,” she finally said, her voice a whisper.

His eyebrows rose, lips pinching into a thin line.

Well, Little Miss Pious wasn’t so innocent after all.

Before he could say anything, she was rambling. “It had been a silly mistake, I was at a party and this guy was being so nice and guys aren’t normally nice to me- not like that at least. And I...we didn’t...we didn’t do _that_ exactly.”

She sighed, and he could feel the relief come off her in waves as she confessed to the sin she committed. “But we did other things, that shouldn’t be done outside of marriage.”

Other things…?

Oh.

He thought of her, on her knees as if in kneeling supplication but instead of words of prayers filling her mouth it was a cock. Her curls fanning across her face, a chaotic and shifting halo, a soft blush warming her cheeks. Because of course she would be the sort of girl to blush during that as if maintaining the identity of piety even as it shattered around her.

He was growing hard, pants straining around his prominent erection and he coughed, shifting his legs. The booth suddenly felt too small, too suffocating. His thoughts were becoming a tangible thing, filling the space like smoke that threatened to strangle him. 

“I wish I could take it back,” she continued to speak, unaware of the effect she was having on the priest she had known since adolescence. “I made a vow to myself and God and my future husband and I ruined it-”

“That’s why you’re here, to ask for forgiveness,” he said, surprised by how level his voice sounded. His cock was rubbing painfully against his zipper, and his hand had inched down to the bulge, hoping that he could lower his fly enough to ease the pain without alerting her to the damning sound. “God will always offer forgiveness to those who are truly worthy. Do you think you’re worthy?” His voice had lowered, deeper than he intended and he told himself it was to cover the sound of his zipper dragging across metal teeth. 

His cock sprang free, still concealed by the thin material of his boxers, and he nearly sighed in relief.

“I...I hope so,” she said, then adding in a low whisper, “I’m worried that no one will want me now.”

He thought she was exaggerating- she was still a virgin, technically, and not the first devout girl to embrace technicalities to keep their womanhood intact for marriage. He considered telling her as much but thought better of it. The relaxed response would appall her, do nothing to alleviate her concerns. 

“I’m sure that will not be the case,” he drawled, using boredom to conceal the arousal in his words. There was something tempting about a virgin, being the first and only one to fill them, mark them. Tasting the skin knowing that no one else knew that taste. Hearing the gasps and moans and pleas and knowing that you were the first to hear that song, that symphony. 

He was squeezing himself before he realized it, the slightest amount of pressure as he rose his hips and canted them forward. He imagined her before him, pink lips spread around his cock as he braced himself against the walls of the confessional, resisting the need to thrust forward.

He imagined she saved herself, just for him.

She was talking, rattling of a meandering story about the party where she indulged in alcohol and acted in a wanton manner. His eyes fluttered closed as he gripped himself firmer, imagining her pressed tight between dancing bodies, dressed in something other than the loose jeans and thick cardigans she wore like armor. 

She would be shy at first, and he would hold her chin as he guided himself between her lips, encourage her as he told her what to do with her tongue, her hands. 

He would take her, pulling her into his lap as the scene shifted from a party to this moment, inside the confessional booth. Defiling it with sin, making it smell like sweat and sex and the pleas for God having an entirely different meaning.

“...Father?” he heard her say, and the muscles in his stomach tightened, spasming as he was pushed over the precipice at the innocent use of that word. His hips thrust forward as cum spurted across the curtain, leaking from the slit as he slowed his movements, biting his lip through the moan that nearly tumbled forward. 

It was sinful, wicked, and he resented the fact that it had ended so soon, that he hadn’t savored the oppressive feel of this booth, the tempting and seductive way she uttered the word father. 

There was always next confession, he thought, lip curling into a crooked grin. 


End file.
